


The Dinner

by nateyface



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Blow Jobs, M/M, Thanksgiving Dinner, an AU of The Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nateyface/pseuds/nateyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Mrs. Jones thinks inviting her son's English teacher for Thanksgiving dinner is a great idea. Michael and Geoff have to act like they're not completely into each other for a few hours. An AU/alternate version of events for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2398916">The Aftermath</a>. [Rating & tags changed for Chapter 4]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mightbeanasshole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398916) by [mightbeanasshole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightbeanasshole/pseuds/mightbeanasshole). 



> Prompt posted [here!](http://horrificsmut.tumblr.com/post/102798172497/thanksgiving-with-the-joneses)

Geoff makes a habit of grocery shopping on Sunday nights, picking up this and that for the week’s meals while he avoids the impending pangs of loneliness that are sure to follow the end of a visit with Michael. He immerses himself in his mental recipe book, flicking from the ‘soups’ tab to the ‘seafood’ to ‘pastries’ as he strolls through the aisles. Ordinarily, he’d shop out of town, wherever he left Michael to his rendezvous with Ray, but tonight he’s content in the cozy Chewelah Safeway.

He idles by the deli, considers splurging on something nice to slow-roast and have for a week of fine leftovers, when he hears a familiar voice from an aisle over.

“Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m eighteen years old, I’m not gonna like Lunchables again until I’m in college.”

“I thought you loved these!” a woman’s voice answers, and Geoff swears he can hear Michael’s frustration growing.

“When I was _twelve_ , sure.”

“You need to tell me when things get old for you, Michael.” Geoff chuckles under his breath and leans on his cart as the woman speaks. “You at least still like the things I get you for breakfast, right?”

“Sure, Mom, they’re fine.” It’s clear Michael’s checked out of the conversation, probably looking at the other parts of the aisle by now. Geoff’s ready to turn toward the produce corner when the end of a cart emerges from the aisle like a breaching whale, and he goes cold at the thought of actually running into Michael and (more importantly) Michael’s _mother_ at the grocery store.

The first person Geoff sees is the stout figure of Michael’s mother, her expression fixed on the grocery list in her hands. Michael trails after her, slouching and holding her purse. Geoff looks around for something to hide behind, a display of snacks or something, but by the deli there’s only the hip-height meat displays to shield him.

Michael stops moving when he spots Geoff, and Geoff tries to pretend he wasn’t just freaking out about this exact moment. Michael’s mom doesn’t notice for a few steps, slowing to a halt as she half-turns to ask Michael something and realizes he’s far behind.

“What are you doing?” she demands, frowning. To Geoff’s horror, Michael gestures toward him, though from the way his face immediately pales, it’s clear he realizes what a mistake he’s made.

“S’my English teacher,” he explains helplessly. Mrs. Jones’ face brightens and she turns her cart to approach Geoff.

“Let’s go say hi,” Geoff hears her say. He takes a deep breath and prepares to act like a normal teacher for a few minutes. Her cart slides alongside his and he turns with a smile plastered in place.

“Mr. Ramsey,” Michael says awkwardly. “Uh, this is my mom. Mom, Mr. Ramsey.” Geoff can see the emotions warring on Michael’s face, and it’s almost a relief to know of their shared discomfort. Mrs. Jones, on the other hand, doesn’t notice at all, and offers her hand for a shake.

“So nice to meet you,” she says warmly. “You’re new this year, right? Michael doesn’t talk about school much.” She shoots a ‘mom’ glance Michael’s way, and Geoff can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, I am.” He rubs his arm awkwardly. “It’s a good school, though. And Michael’s doing well in class.”

“Oh, that’s so nice to hear,” Mrs. Jones says with an easy smile. “I always worry about these things, you know.” She pats Michael on the shoulder. “Michael, could you go get the orange juice for me? And that tea junk your father likes.” He rolls his eyes but takes the offered excuse to get out of the conversation. Geoff wishes he could sink through the floor.

“Is he _really_ doing well?” Mrs. Jones whispers once Michael’s well out of range. “I don’t see him doing homework very much, and like I said, he doesn’t talk about school...”

Geoff smiles patiently. “He is. I’d probably say he’s one of my best students.”

She puts a hand to her chest dramatically. “Oh, what a relief! He spends so much time out with friends, you know, I’m just nervous about his priorities - and of course his father won’t talk to him.” Geoff nods along, just letting her carry on. He misses college teaching, when the only parents he had to deal with were when his students had kids of their own. “Whew, well. Are you settling in well? Visiting family for Thanksgiving?”

He shakes his head. “I’m settling in, sure, but uh...” He shrugs. “No plans for Thanksgiving. Probably just a quiet night in my apartment.”

Mrs. Jones bats his arm playfully. “Mr. Ramsey! No one should be alone on Thanksgiving. You should come have dinner with us.”

Geoff’s stunned silence drives his heartbeat to pound in his ears. Is this woman seriously inviting him to Thanksgiving? With her son he’s... involved... with?

“Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Ramsey! ‘Giving’ is right there in the name, right? And Michael’s brother isn’t going to be home for the occasion, so it would be sad with just the three of us.” She pats his shoulder before reaching for her purse, forgetting that Michael took it with him. “Oh, darn. When Michael gets back, I’ll give you our address and phone number, okay? And we’ll be eating at five.” At his still-nervous expression, she aims her ‘mom’ look at him. “I insist.”

“Uh... thank you.” Geoff forces a smile. “I appreciate it.”

Michael shuffles back with a couple of jugs and sets them in his mom’s cart. “Let’s go, Mom - I promised Ray I’d be on for Halo tonight.”

“You just spent all weekend together!” she protests mildly. She returns her attention to Geoff and smiles thinly. “Here, Mr. Ramsey...” Taking her purse from Michael’s shoulder, she removes a business card and pens their address on the back in tidy, loopy handwriting. “It was lovely to meet you!”

Geoff watches them leave, hands shaking. Well, _that’s_ happening.

\---

Michael fidgets through class Monday morning, waiting for it to end so he can talk to Geoff. Their first extended weekend, he wants to know what the plan is. Maybe with his brother off at his girlfriend’s for Thanksgiving, Michael can dash out after dinner and start their long weekend. Or skip dinner altogether - it’s not like he really wants the family time. Or maybe, he thinks with a knot in his stomach, Geoff’s going out of town.

He calms himself with the thought that Geoff would have mentioned it by now if he was leaving. For the remainder of the period, he wanders in and out of the class discussion, earning a concerned glance from Geoff at one point for his spaced-out answers.

Finally, the bell rings, and everyone else races for the door as Michael crosses to Geoff’s desk.

“Hey, Jones,” Geoff greets warmly. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” Michael glances around to make sure no one’s paying attention. “You have plans this weekend?” he asks quietly, fidgeting with Geoff’s stapler.

Geoff sighs through his nose. “Yeah, actually... uh...” Michael feels the blood rush from his face as a sudden chill rolls through him. Geoff avoiding his eyes doesn’t help. “Okay, this is weird, and we’ll talk about it later, but... your mom invited me to Thanksgiving with your family.”

“What.”

“We’ll talk about it later, Jones. You have another class to attend.” Geoff shuffles the stack of irrelevant papers on his desk, and Michael shakes his head.

“No, come on. What the hell is this, is this a joke?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. The warmth that fled his face before comes back in force, and he swears he can feel steam rising from his ears. “Are you fucking serious!?”

Geoff rubs the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a joke. Your mom invited me to Thanksgiving dinner.”

_“And you accepted!?”_ Michael hisses.

“Accepted is a strong word,” Geoff answers with a sigh. “We’ll talk later.” The way his face shifts, lips in a thin line and brow knit tight, tells Michael this is all he’s getting for now. Goddamnit.

\---

Geoff is a mess of thoughts for the rest of his day. He needs a stiff drink and a good book, neither of which he’ll get until after he has a chance to talk to Michael.

Which, as it turns out, isn’t Monday.

Nor does it turn out to be Tuesday, much to his irritation and growing anxiety. His skin itches as he comes into work Wednesday morning. Due to the half day schedule, there isn’t anything substantial he’s planned, and he turns on the pilot of _Twin Peaks_ for the sake of having something the class is ‘doing’. Everyone knows it’s essentially a free period.

“Ramsey.” His shoulders knot tight as he hears Michael address him.

“Yeah, Jones?”

“My mom, uh... explained.” Michael shoves his hands in his pockets, cheeks flaring pink. “Apparently, you’re a charity case or some shit. So you’d better be there tomorrow, or I think she’ll write an angry letter to the school board about impolite staff.”

Geoff sighs. “Great. That’s... just great.” He rubs his temple and tries not to think violent thoughts toward the well-meaning Mrs. Jones. “You get why I couldn’t say no, right?”

“Yeah.” Michael laughs nervously. “I tried everything I could think of to change her mind.”

“I don’t think I even wanna ask what lengths you went to.” They share a laugh, however fraught with awkwardness it is at their vivid nightmares of Thanksgiving dinner. “I’ll be there, and... act normal. I won’t stay any longer than I have to.” He shrugs. “Sit and try to relax, I guess.”

Michael squirms by his desk a little longer. “You’ll dress all... teacher-y, right?”

“As opposed to what?” Geoff arches his eyebrows and Michael tosses up his hands.

“I dunno, dude, a suit or some shit? Just don’t make it weird, Ramsey.” He stalks back to his desk, and when the bell rings a few minutes later, he leaves without saying anything more to Geoff.

\---

Wednesday night, Michael finally admits to himself fully that it’s happening - that Geoff is coming to his house for goddamn _formal holiday dinner_ and he has absolutely no clue what his game plan is. He’s supposed to sit at the table and act like Geoff is any other teacher, any other adult in his life that isn’t the perfect mess he knows the man to be. He’s supposed to sit there eating food with his illicit boyfriend and not get distracted thinking about how far the ink goes along Geoff’s skin, or any piercings he may know about.

And dammit, he’s already thinking about them now - how much worse will that be tomorrow?

He texts Geoff to wear long sleeves before crawling into bed, hoping maybe he’ll sleep through Thanksgiving and not have to deal with this bullshit.


	2. Preparation

It’s busy as it can get in Safeway the night before Thanksgiving, but Geoff navigates easily through the crowd to get to what he needs. He already decided what to cook for the Joneses in the hopes that having a list would make the trip easier. Once he’s found everything, he does give in to temptation and adds two bottles of wine and a small bottle of Jameson to his basket - wine for the Joneses, and the whiskey for himself.

At home, he unloads his haul, separating each dish across his small counter space and setting the wine bottles aside. He pours himself a splash of whiskey and sits down to work on sorting his heaping bag of cranberries. It’s calming work, however menial, and it feels like no time at all before he has a small plastic bag of inadequate fruit and a heaping bowl of delicious cranberries. In his biggest pot, he mixes sugar and water and sets it to a slow boil. He peels a knot of ginger next and cuts it into chunks, pushing toothpicks through each piece and setting them by the pot. Once the sugar and water are bubbly enough, he drops in the ginger and lets it simmer for a good while, occupying himself with slicing five firm, delicious pears in the meantime. He indulges himself in a few bites of sweetness between his slow sips of whiskey.

Once the ginger has well saturated the boiling syrup, he carefully pours in the good cranberries and covers the pot to let them cook. Despite having basically _just_ organized his kitchen, it takes him a while to dig out his citrus juicer, and a little longer to rinse the dust off the damn thing. He juices a lemon and paces the kitchen for a bit as he waits for the cranberries to make progress.

His phone buzzes and he checks it to find a suggestion from Michael - maybe a demand, actually - to wear long sleeves. He intends to already, but since Michael seems... oddly concerned, he decides to plan his outfit once the cranberries are done.

Speaking of cranberries, Geoff peers into the pot for a faceful of steam and finds most of them have popped, staining everything a healthy pink. He grins and gives the cranberry-ginger concoction a good stir before dumping his pear cubes and lemon juice into the mix. There’s a few minutes before the pears will be tender, so he dashes to his closet to look through outfits.

Slacks, khakis... he scratches his beard thoughtfully as he looks through his choices. Eventually he pulls out a pair of olive khakis, a checked broadcloth shirt, and a comfy cable-knit sweater. Safe bets, he thinks, especially if Michael is concerned about the sex factor between them. The sweater makes him look like an Irish fisherman - fortunate, given the Dublin-like freeze over Chewelah. He hangs everything on the bathroom door for tomorrow.

That sorted, he returns to the kitchen and prods at his pears, testing one with a fork to check its tenderness. It just needs another minute, so he tidies up a few things he left out on the counters before taking the pot off the heat and flicking off the stove. He tries not to worry too much about the outfit he’s picked and pours himself another whiskey.

It ends up being the Jameson that convinces Geoff to sleep, and he’s blessed with a dreamless night.

\---

Michael jolts awake to the sound of knocking on his door, and his mother comes in before he’s fully adjusted to the cold grey light of the morning. She’s already in some hideous holiday sweater, and he’d bet that she’s crammed his dad into something that matches. He pulls the covers up over his head and grumbles at her, but she starts fussing with his closet unhindered.

“Mom, I swear to fuckin’ Christ--”

“ _Language,_ young man,” she scolds. “You need to look nice for Mr. Ramsey today.” His stomach does some kind of spin move and he groans. “Here, a nice polo - oh, and those slacks you wore for your school pictures. If you get cold, borrow a dinner jacket from your father.” He hears her clacking hangers together as she pulls whatever clothes she’s talking about from their places.

“I told you not to have him over, Ma.” Michael longs for a stiff drink. Maybe because of the fancy dinner, his mom will let him have a beer or wine - but that’s hours away. He finally eases out from under the covers and sits up. “It’ll be stupid and weird. He’s my _teacher_.”

She hangs his clothes on the doorknob for him. “And I told you, we don’t turn away people in need for the holidays, do we?” She smiles at him like she’s won something, and he makes a noise of frustration. “Come on, Michael. It’ll be a nice chance to get to know him outside of class! You don’t get those often, you know. Maybe he’s a cool dude.”

“Never, ever say ‘cool dude’ again, Mom.” Michael tries not to think about how well he already knows Geoff outside of class. He picks up his phone and thinks about texting Ray the situation, seeking some advice, but all he can imagine getting in return is ‘you’re fucked.’ While that is true, it’s not helpful, and he puts his phone back down without even unlocking it.

“Your brother’s already left, so why don’t you help your father with decorating once you’re up?”

“Decorating!?” he chokes. He immediately pictures Christmas lights and some kind of hideously festive wreath on the door. “What the fuck kind of decorating is he doing?”

 _“Language, Michael!”_ she answers on her way out the door.

“That doesn’t answer the question!” he shouts after her, but his protest is ignored. Excellent. He crawls out of bed with a long sigh and gathers his clothes to go take a shower. Maybe he can shower through Thanksgiving and not have to deal with this bullshit.

\---

When Geoff wakes to the sound of his phone alarm, he smacks halfheartedly at it and sits upright with a groan. The weight of today’s approaching adventure hits him harder than the faint hangover he carelessly earned himself. He spends his first hour awake drinking hot water and honey and staring out the window at the frosted rooftops, trying to convince himself not to start the morning with a few more glasses of whiskey.

Headache eased somewhat, he takes a long shower and grooms himself a little. He laughs at himself when he has a momentary longing for a mustache comb. Instead of pulling on his outfit right away, he gets comfortable in sweatpants and an old holiday t-shirt to find a more lighthearted Thanksgiving spirit - and with another dish to cook today, it’s likely better he waits on the nice pants.

Geoff washes small purple and gold potatoes before quartering them and dropping the chunks in a plastic bag. He crushes a couple cloves of garlic and chops them up finely, adding them to the bag along with some rosemary and olive oil. Sealing the bag with a little extra air, he gives it some good shakes to coat all the potatoes with the oil and seasoning. While they get roasting in a pan, he searches through his cooled pot from the night before to find the toothpicked ginger, removing the chunks and tossing them out. He empties the pot into a tureen for easy serving at the Joneses.

He sighs through his nose. _The Joneses_. He checks the potatoes and turns them, trying not to get too wound up. Michael’s a smart kid; they’re both technically adults; between them, they can handle one awkward dinner arrangement. He just wishes they’d had a chance to talk about it beforehand, commiserate a little more. Then he might also know what to expect from the two complete strangers he’s about to dine with.

After the potatoes finish, he moves them into a casserole dish and leaves them in the oven on its lowest setting just to stay hot until dinner. He changes into his khakis and decides it’s cold enough out to leave the t-shirt on under his other two layers. The button-down is certainly nice enough that he can take off the sweater if he has to later, but with the temperature threatening single-digits he isn’t that worried about it.

Finally, he brings his two dishes and bottles of wine out to the car, securing the tureen in particular very carefully, and gives his face a final once-over in the rearview mirror. Sure, he looks a little tired, but he seems to be keeping the panic from his face pretty well.

Two deep, slow breaths, and Geoff drives to his boyfriend’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.

\---

Despite his best efforts, Michael can’t drag his shower out much longer than usual, emerging with pruny fingers and a deep frown. He gets dressed as slowly as he can stand, but has to eventually face the music and help his father put icicle lights up around their disused fireplace and the living room window. His mom comes by occasionally to applaud and suggest more places to decorate before going back to whatever hell she’s raising in the kitchen. Michael dissuades anyone from putting more lights around the china cabinet in the dining room, afraid that too much holiday cheer around their dinner table will cause him to snap.

Once the decorating is done, including hanging the Christmas stockings they haven’t used for two years and putting up a tabletop tree on the coffee table, Michael excuses himself to his room to breathe for the last half hour he has before Geoff is due to arrive.

Time passes all too quickly. He hears the doorbell, and his mom calls for him to come down and be polite to their guest. Sure. He all but crawls to the front door, where his mother is gesturing to the shoe rack and Geoff is sliding off his dress shoes.

“Ah, Michael! Don’t you look nice?” she chirps with delight. Geoff turns, and Michael abruptly feels his heart jump to his throat. Goddamnit. He told Geoff not to make it weird, didn’t he? But here the bastard stands, making his fears about the evening that much worse.

The fact of the matter is, Geoff is fucking adorable. Something about the soft colors of his checked shirt peeking out from under the creme and charcoal edges of his bulky, goddamn precious sweater, and the way he’s clearly trimmed his mustache has Michael melting. He wants nothing more than to rest his head on Geoff’s surely soft chest and soak in the warmth.

He’s so boned.

Geoff smiles at him and he snaps back to reality, spluttering a little and praying his mother doesn’t notice how flustered he is. “Uh, hi, Mr. Ramsey,” he manages, throat inexplicably dry. “I gotta get some water.”

“Michael. Shouldn’t you help our guest with his dishes? He was nice enough to bring extra food.” His mom pats his shoulder and he forces a smile.

“Sure. I’ll take that, Mr. Ramsey.” Michael reaches for the tureen under Geoff’s arm. Fuck, if Geoff brought his home cooking, Michael might become a puddle on the floor. He peeks into the tureen and gets a wave of tart, fruity smell. “What’d you bring?”

“Uh, cranberry-pear relish. Old family recipe.” Geoff nods toward the casserole dish under his other arm. “And these are pan-roasted potatoes.”

Michael tries not to make it obvious that his knees have become jelly as he leads Geoff and his mother to the dining room. He puts down the relish and gestures to a trivet where Geoff can set his potatoes.

“I’m so glad you made it, Mr. Ramsey,” his mom says cheerfully, hand on Geoff’s arm. “No one should be alone for the holidays, I always say.” She pulls out a chair and beams at him. “Please, sit! I’ll get dinner, and I’m sure my husband will be in any second.”

“Oh, uh, here,” Geoff says suddenly, lifting the bag he’d had on his arm. “I brought wine, too...” Michael tries not to let his cheeks turn pink. _Why is everything this asshole does adorable?_ Thoughtful dick.

“That’s so sweet of you!” His mom takes the two bottles and peers at the labels. “Let’s open one up. Michael, could you be a dear and start bringing dinner in while I get some wine for us?”

As Michael heads to the kitchen, he prays silently the ‘us’ includes him. Or maybe that would be a bad idea, given the effect Geoff is having on him. God _dammit_. He had sort of mentally prepared for Geoff being attractive, expecting that to be the difficult part, but instead he’s just... domestic and sweet and it’s ridiculous. Michael wants to punch something to counter the mushy feelings gumming up his thought processes.

He picks up the dish of steamed broccoli with one hand and the sweet potato dish with the other and carries them into the dining room. This is almost it. The real Thanksgiving dinner he’s been dreading. Geoff smiles awkwardly at him.

He is completely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a complete dweeb and made a polyvore set for [Geoff's outfit](http://www.polyvore.com/geoff_for_dinner/set?id=140755717). Multimedia fun I suppose. Also yeah, I lied and it'll be three parts instead of two. Do you really mind?


	3. Execution

The instant he sits at the Joneses’ table, Geoff knows he’s fucked.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say the instant _after_ he sits, because that’s when he sees Michael return to the dining room with the most miserable dishes he’s seen in a while. Limp, overcooked broccoli rests in one, and in the other? Geoff squints at what appears to be a casserole of marshmallows ringed with charred sugar. Perhaps there are supposed to be sweet potatoes under there. Maybe.

Michael sets both dishes on the table and takes a seat as far from Geoff as plausible. Geoff silently thanks destiny that Mrs. Jones doesn’t demand Michael be ‘sociable’ and sit closer, even if at the modest dining table it wouldn’t be a drastic difference. He needs the space he can get for this.

Mrs. Jones excuses herself to get the turkey - “oh, and I suppose I’ll get dinner, too,” she adds, and it takes Geoff until after she’s walked away to realize she’d been making a joke at her husband’s expense. He rolls his eyes and takes a deep drink of wine.

“Dude, what part of ‘don’t make it weird’ did you not understand?” Michael hisses now that they have a moment alone.

“What did I do? I’m in long sleeves!” Geoff does his best to keep his volume to a whisper.

“Yeah, but you’re fucking adorable, Ramsey. I hate you so much right now.”

Geoff opens his mouth to protest, but in walks a stranger he assumes is Mr. Jones. On the instant, he stands and offers the man a handshake.

“Mr. Jones, I presume?” Geoff puts on his best smile, weak as it is. “Geoff Ramsey.”

Mr. Jones takes his hand, turns it, squints at his fingers. “My wife didn’t mention tattoos.”

“She probably hasn’t noticed them,” Michael mutters. Mr. Jones chuckles, low and dry.

“Were you in prison or something, son?” he asks, and only the fact that Michael starts laughing keeps Geoff grounded in reality for that moment.

“He’s my fuckin’ teacher, Dad.”

“ _Language,_ Michael.” Mrs. Jones makes her entrance, carrying a platter in her plump arms. “Dear, would you help me get this on the table?” Both the Jones men move to help her, though it’s the senior who actually assists. What settles in the center of the table is the saddest-looking bird Geoff has ever seen. He can tell by the rubbery-looking skin that this turkey is not going to be pleasant to eat.

They all take their seats, and there’s an awkward silence over the table. Michael fidgets with his shirt sleeve, and Geoff rubs his knuckles anxiously. The single moment seems to stretch forever until Mrs. Jones clears her throat gently.

“Mr. Ramsey, as our guest...” she begins, and Geoff feels his stomach plummet out of his body to the earth’s core. “Would you do us the honor of saying grace?” He considers it a small victory he doesn’t immediately turn chalk white. Saying _grace_ for the Joneses at Thanksgiving - it’s like a goddamn gooey Hallmark card.

“Uh.” Good way to buy time, he scolds himself. He folds his hands together and sighs through his nose. “Sure.”

The Joneses smile softly, save for Michael whose grin is wide and vicious. They all fold their hands in prayer, and Geoff feels the tension tighten in his shoulders.

“Uh, heavenly... Father...” he begins shakily, peering at Mrs. Jones for her approving nod, “we thank you for the... for the food on our table, that we are blessed with... And, uh, for the good company and... high... high spirits today. Thank you for...” He sees Michael straining to hold back giggles and he can’t help but clench his teeth. “Thank you for students who pay attention in class, and turn in their assignments,” he says sharply. “And thank you for keeping our spirits safe from the devils who would tempt them.”

Mrs. Jones seems to quirk an eyebrow despite her eyes staying closed. Geoff clears his throat.

“Amen,” he finishes, and the blush on Michael’s cheeks is enough to make the uncomfortable experience almost worth it. The group echoes his ‘amen’ before the jovial Mrs. Jones stands to start carving the bird while the male Joneses start loading their plates.

“Want broccoli, son?” Mr. Jones asks, offering Geoff the serving spoon. He takes it uneasily and puts a few small pieces on his plate - whatever ones he can find that look like they haven’t been steamed into oblivion. He also claims a minimally-charred scoop of the marshmallow dish, proving there were some sweet potatoes underneath. Michael ignores his family’s offerings, instead diving straight for Geoff’s pan-seared potatoes and heaping a few spoonfuls of the cranberry relish on his plate as well.

“White or dark meat, Mr. Ramsey?” He looks at Mrs. Jones’s platter of carved turkey and smiles thinly.

“Dark, please.” It has to be the lesser of two evils, he figures; at least it shouldn’t be as dry as the white meat looks. His mouth feels like cardboard just thinking about it, and in the back of his mind is the looming image of the dinner in _Christmas Vacation_ when the turkey collapsed into dust.

He begs silently for the earth to open beneath him and swallow him whole.

\---

At first, Geoff’s face is amusing to watch as he sorts through the family’s options, and Michael sees the horror descend subtly once it’s clear the best - or only - cook in the family is probably the teenager. After a while, though, he realizes he’s stuck with the same choices, and as he takes a couple slices of turkey breast, he sighs through his nose. Family Thanksgivings, right?

He tastes a little of the cranberry junk Geoff brought - god _dammit_ it has no right to taste that good - and puts some over the meat instead of the store-bought gravy his mom brings out.

“So,” his father begins, and Michael’s body struggles deciding whether to tense in fear or slump sarcastically forward. “English teacher, right? Like your job?”

Michael relaxes a little and tries not to look too interested in the answer, instead shoveling some of Geoff’s potatoes in his mouth. While his mom listens to Geoff talking - something about how rewarding his work is - she pours herself a glass of wine, and to Michael’s delight, she passes him one. He may not be the biggest fan of the stuff, but it helps soothe the rough edges of his nerves. Now here’s hoping it doesn’t make Geoff even cuter.

“Since you have such a - what’s the word - _rapport_ with the kids, maybe you can talk some sense into Michael,” his dad says as he returns his attention to their talk. “Y’know, kid his age has to tighten his focus, all that. Get a job, take on some responsibility.”

His mother laughs a little and smiles. “He seems to have so much free time these days, seeing Ray so often and all that.” Michael coughs as his throat catches on a swallow.

“Ma, we do homework half the time,” he protests.

“Your grades aren’t reflecting that.” Her tone clips tightly, and the table seems too quiet for a breath or two.

“Haha, you know, it’s not really my style to play guidance counselor,” Geoff says. “Besides, Michael’s got a solid head on his shoulders. He doesn’t have to rush into responsibility.” He sips his wine, and Michael takes a mental picture of soft, sweater-y Geoff with the wine glass in his inky fingers.

“Well, enough about school.” His mom’s voice tugs him away from thoughts of Geoff’s tattoo sleeves. “What about your personal life, Mr. Ramsey?”

“Yeah, son, got a special lady in your life?” his dad follows up. “Fellas with book smarts are all the rage with young ladies these days, right?”

As Michael’s face pales, he shoves a forkful of turkey in his mouth and tries not to choke on it. For Geoff’s part, he doesn’t seem too shaken by the line of questioning. At least, until there’s an odd cracking sound from the food he’s chewing, and he abruptly stops everything, going stiff as a board.

“Uh, excuse me a minute,” he murmurs, a little garbled, and Michael watches in complete confusion as he rushes from the table. Almost as quickly as he leaves, he wobbles back and asks quietly for directions to the bathroom.

“Down the hall, first door on your left,” Michael answers automatically, and Geoff vanishes again. What the fuck was that?

\---

Geoff rushes to the bathroom with a hand on his jaw, trying to assess what’s going on with his teeth as he moves. Once he has the door closed and light on, he plugs the sink, runs the water, and spits.

With a soft ‘clink’, half his tongue ring lands in the water.

“Fuck my dickhole right now.” He’d screwed his barbell on completely by muscle memory when worrying about the dinner; he must have left it way too loose and it slipped off and...

He runs his tongue over his teeth and around his mouth as if it’d make the missing stud appear. No, instead he’s become a complete amateur and swallowed his fucking piercing and he’s _so_ lucky he didn’t chip a tooth. The way the crack rang through his skull, he half expected to be spitting blood.

Geoff breathes deep and carefully washes off the surviving half of his barbell before just sticking the damn thing in his pocket. He can put another one in at home later. Just a little while longer, a few more bites of mediocre food and he can excuse himself to a bottle of whiskey in his apartment...

As he steps back toward the dining room, he remembers where they left off. _Lady friends._ He isn’t sure why he’s always caught off guard by people assuming he’s straight. With a sigh through his nose, he braces himself for more conservative parenting as he resumes his seat.

“So sorry, I bit my tongue,” he explains, and Michael raises an eyebrow at him. “But it’s not so bad, I’m fine. Ah, where were we?” He picks up his fork and forces a smile.

“That’s alright - we were wondering if there’s a future Mrs. Ramsey.” Mrs. Jones smiles warmly and tops off his wine glass as she speaks. He swallows hard and shakes his head.

“Haha, no... not really my... thing.”

“What, not the ‘marrying type’?” Mr. Jones teases. “Or just bad with women?”

Briefly, Geoff’s memory flicks through a scrapbook of exes. “I guess you could say that.” He forces himself to finish his meat and washes it down with a hearty gulp of wine. “I’m, uh... married to my work,” he says weakly, but it earns a warm laugh from the Joneses. Another calm dip in the anxiety roller-coaster, he thinks to himself as his shoulders relax.

“Well, you see a lot of the students - any nice matches for Michael, you think?”

And the tension ratchets right back up. Geoff wonders if he’s visibly about to snap yet, but the way Michael is choking on a drink of wine is distracting enough that he has a second to slip his poker face back on.

“Mom!” Michael coughs hard and takes a sip of water. “I - how - why would you even ask that!?” His face is bright red under his freckles, and he bites his lip roughly.

“A boy your age should have a girlfriend, or at least a _crush_ ,” Mrs. Jones insists. “But you never talk about girls. It has us worried.”

“Didn’t you just say I should be focusing on school and a job and shit?” Michael puts up a hand before Mrs. Jones can protest. “Never mind, Ma. You’ve made this all weird and I’m stuffed - may I be excused?”

Mr. Jones waves a hand. “Let the kid go, we’ve tortured him enough.” Mrs. Jones frowns, but doesn’t say anything as Michael takes his dish to the kitchen.

“You know, I’m just about finished up, too. I should really get going - a lot of weekend grading.” Geoff starts to stand, but the Joneses both gesture for him to stay seated, and he feels a little stuck.

“Please, won’t you stay for a cup of coffee? And we haven’t even had dessert - there’s pie.” Mrs. Jones takes Geoff and Mr. Jones’ plates and stacks them under her own. “I’ll get us some mugs, and - oh, actually, we can move to the living room so we’re more comfortable. Dear, would you put that nice fireplace up on Netflix?” Mr. Jones rolls his eyes, but stands and waves for Geoff to accompany him.

“I really should go,” Geoff insists quietly, but he gets up and follows the man anyway. “Could get icy out if I stay too late, and I wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome...” But he knows he isn’t being heard, and he watches dully as Mr. Jones navigates the Netflix menus on the TV with astounding clumsiness.

He looks toward the front door and sighs deeply.

\---

Thank all the benevolent forces in the world, Michael thinks as he rinses his dishes and leaves them in the sink. He grabs a soda from the fridge and starts to head out to his bedroom so he can avoid any more awkwardness when his mom comes into the kitchen.

“Michael, Mr. Ramsey is lovely. He’s staying for coffee - you know, you should join us. You _are_ an adult.”

“Ma, he’s my teacher, it’s weird... I was just gonna go to my room and be quiet, maybe study.” Michael takes another step toward freedom, but his mom clears her throat.

“You know, you could be a little friendlier with him. He could be a big help when you graduate - write you a recommendation letter and that sort of thing.” She cleans the dishes as she talks, and taps him in the shoulder with one so he’ll come help dry them. “I know - while I’m making the coffee, why don’t you take him to your room? Show him something you’re working on for school.”

Michael grunts and deliberately scowls at her. “I’m not in kindergarten, Mom, I don’t wanna play show and tell with him.” As he says it, an idea sparks in his head. His scowl eases and he focuses on drying the dishes for a minute.

“Come on, Michael. How about instead of school, show him... Oh, how about that photo album you helped me glue together? With the pictures from the Hawaii trip?” She grins at him and nudges him with her elbow. “I think he’d like it! We were sure creative with the scrapbooking, and you can tell him all about the snorkeling with sea creatures and all that.”

Michael chews his lip for a minute. It would give him the chance to have some alone time with Geoff, ask what was up with the bathroom run, and maybe tease him a little for being so ridiculously cute...

“Yeah, Ma. Sounds good.” _Geoff is so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mix for this fic on 8tracks! [Listen here](http://8tracks.com/nateyface/recipe-for-disaster). Also yeahhh this is gonna go on longer oOPS. And there's porn in the next part, spoilers. haha.
> 
> As always, you can find me at my RT/AH blog [ryanslostfootage](http://ryanslostfootage.tumblr.com).


	4. Celebration

Perhaps, Geoff thinks, if Michael’s out of the way for the evening, it won’t be so bad to just smile and nod along with the Joneses until he can slip out. Once they’re alone, the conversation could turn to topics other than Michael and school and _dating,_ and Geoff knows he can fake normalcy long enough to escape unscathed.

Instead of Mrs. Jones returning with coffee, however, the next appearance in the living room is Michael. Geoff tilts his head in confusion and Michael just beckons to him, leading him out and up the stairs.

“I’m just borrowing him for a second, Dad,” Michael shouts behind them. He ushers Geoff into a bedroom and shuts the door with a resonating ‘click’.

“The hell are you doing, Michael?” Geoff’s scarcely finished speaking when Michael’s arms are around him, squeezing warmly. Their lips meet, lopsided and wet, and Michael tastes of blackberry and cocoa - the local Malbec they drank with dinner. Geoff indulges him with another kiss before prying away and breathing a sigh into Michael’s hair. “Goddammit.”

“S’your fault,” Michael protests into his sweater. “You had to be so fuckin’ cute today.” He tilts his head to kiss along Geoff’s jaw, prompting a shiver.

“We’re in your parents’ house.” The words are nearly squashed by Michael’s insistent affection.

“So? It’s my fuckin’ house, too.” Michael’s fingers card through Geoff’s hair and pull him in for a deeper kiss. It’s so, _so_ tempting to give in and just pull their bodies tight together, maybe slide a hand under Michael’s tidy shirt and tease his skin, but the taste of wine and the smell of coffee keep him from collapsing into the offered warmth.

“Michael, come on - how reckless can you be?” Geoff growls, tugging himself away. Michael simply grins at him.

“Is that a challenge?”

Geoff rolls his eyes and pushes Michael’s head against his chest, keeping them at a long hug for the moment - at least until Michael’s hands wander lower. One eager hand cups Geoff’s ass while the other clumsily navigates his belt.

“Oh, no no no! No, this is _not the time,_ Michael,” Geoff whispers. He tries to back himself away, but Michael simply follows, arching so their hips curve together and press _just so_ and make Geoff curse under his breath.

Michael’s cocky grin sends a tingle directly southward. “Seems like a great time,” he teases, “since you have _this_ goin’ on.” He palms Geoff’s erection through his khakis.

“We - I’m -” Geoff struggles for words until Michael unfastens his belt for him. “Fuck. What happened to me being your _teacher_ tonight?”

“So teach me something, then.”

\---

Michael kneels in front of Geoff and squeezes his ass, eager to tease. The man splutters a little, much to Michael’s satisfaction, and grips his hair roughly.

“Is that a ‘no’ on the teaching?” Michael says with a chuckle. He tugs slowly on Geoff’s zipper and plants a kiss on his cotton-clad bulge. Fuck, he wants to just go to town on Geoff right now, vent his frustration through enthusiastic blowing, but he’s determined to make this a punishment for his goddamn adorable troublemaking.

Geoff pulls his hair slightly. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Ooh, yeah.” Michael slides the elastic of his partner’s boxers down to free his cock. “Talk more nerdy shit to me, Geoff.” He leans in and kisses along Geoff’s exposed hips and thighs, teasing the sensitive skin with an occasional lick. It’s all he can do not to dive right in to the main event, with Geoff’s size and fucking _piercing_ and... He plants a kiss low enough for his cheek to brush Geoff’s balls.

“Fuck,” Geoff sighs above him. Michael pulls away with a smirk.

“Ehh, not sure that’s nerdy enough.”

_“Jesus Christ,_ Michael...” It’s cruel to get so much satisfaction from this, Michael knows, but Geoff’s frustration is deeply rewarding. He brushes the tip of his nose along Geoff’s skin just enough to tease.

“You can think of something.”

There’s a pause, and in that moment Michael worries he may be pushing too far - but Geoff grumbles warmly and curls both hands tight in Michael’s hair. “Nn... _semantic satiation,”_ he murmurs.

“Good, good.” Michael wraps a hand around the base of Geoff’s cock and strokes it once. “Teach me more.”

“Uh...”

\---

Fucking Michael.

Geoff resists the urge to buck into Michael’s hand. If Michael wants to play this game, he’ll let him. For now.

“A...Aposiopesis.” Maybe he likes this game, he thinks as Michael licks around his piercing. The heat and slight pressure make him shiver. Anticipation creeps up his back as he closes his eyes, imagining what’s coming.

“Keep going.” Michael closes his lips around the head of Geoff’s cock, and Geoff groans deeply.

“Fuck...” He flicks through his mental glossary for something to say to keep Michael’s mouth there. “S...syntactical ambiguity,” he whispers. Michael eagerly adds his tongue to the equation, teasing around his ring. “Oh, _fuck me...”_

Michael pulls away with a smirk. “Nah. Just blowin’ you.” Geoff sighs hard.

“Now? Really?” He gasps as the warmth of Michael’s mouth returns to his dick. “Ah... subjunctive mood.” He’s rewarded by Michael taking in more and humming in approval. “Jesus, yes, that’s good...” Geoff strokes Michael’s hair appreciatively. The air stills for a moment as Michael focuses on licking a firm stripe up the underside of Geoff’s shaft.

“Come on, Geoff.” The words wash hotly over Geoff’s skin. “I like this game.”

It takes him another few moments to search his lexicon. He’s tempted to just start mumbling about Michael’s perfect mouth, about how suddenly this night’s awkward dinner has been made worth it, but in the idle quiet the younger man starts trailing fingers along the sensitive flesh of his thighs and draws him out of his thoughts.

“Shit...” Geoff sighs. Michael kisses the thatch of hair above his cock and laughs quietly.

“Runnin’ out of time, Ramsey,” he teases. Geoff thinks of the coffee brewing downstairs and groans deeply.

“Mondegreen.” Michael quirks an eyebrow. “S’when - ugh. You didn’t ask me to explain the other ones.”

“The other ones sounded more scientific.” He kisses the head of Geoff’s cock and wraps his hand around the base firmly. “But I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Fine... epanadiplosis.”

\---

Michael doesn’t know what any of these words are, but he knows he loves Geoff’s dick and the way Geoff goes all breathless with frustration. In return for the new vocabulary, Michael squeezes gently at the base of Geoff’s cock and tongues his ring. He flicks the jewelery back and forth gently and tries not to grin with the way Geoff gasps.

“Jesus... a...antimetabole,” Geoff moans. Michael takes in the head and strokes the length with his hand. Nearly unintelligible curses string from under Geoff’s breath as Michael moves along his dick. The older man’s fingers stroke through his hair roughly and tug with encouragement. “Onomastics.” Eagerly, Michael swallows more of Geoff and moves his hand to his balls. He rolls them gently, feels Geoff sway ever-so-slightly as his knees wobble, and resists the urge to grin around the dick in his mouth.

_“Coffee!”_ The voice of Michael’s mother echoes up the stairs. Michael moves both his hands to Geoff’s hips to keep him still.

“Jesus, I have- I need to-- _Michael.”_ Instead of stopping, Michael cups Geoff’s ass and pulls until he has as much of his cock in his throat as he can take. He chokes a little, but the way his lover hisses a few more expletives makes it more than worthwhile.

\---

The panic rushing down Geoff’s spine keeps him from spiraling out of control at how perfect Michael’s throat feels around him. He’s rarely wanted to be loud during sex before, but now with the most dangerous boyfriend imaginable on his cock, it’s only the jolly voice of Mrs. fucking Jones grounding him in reality.

He grips Michael by the hair and curls his toes against the carpet. One of them should respond to her before she comes knocking, but he’s so close and Michael’s mouth is a little busy. _Fuck._

“Parataxis,” Geoff whispers. How he dragged another word from the depths of his lexicon, he isn’t certain. The train of thought vanishes as Michael hums pleasantly around him and uses the back of that fucking tongue to play with Geoff’s piercing. “Oh, dicks, that’s - that’s so good...” He moves a hand to Michael’s shoulder and squeezes. “Pleonasm. Shit, I’m gonna come, Michael,” he groans. His perfect student deep-throats his cock once more as a shudder of pleasure tips Geoff over the edge.

\---

If someone told Michael a month ago he’d be ending Thanksgiving with his teacher’s cum in his mouth, he probably would have laughed it off. Now, however, as he swallows with a broad grin and meets Geoff’s foggy gaze, he’s enjoying every second of it.

He kisses the head of Geoff’s cock one last time before he swipes the back of his hand across his spit-soaked lips and lifts himself to his feet. “Just a sec, Ma!” he hollers, finally shattering the erotic quiet of his room.

“Jesus,” is all Geoff offers. Michael shakes his head and kisses the older man’s jaw.

“Pull up your pants, Ramsey. You’ve got a coffee date with my parents.”

\---

It takes a few breaths before Geoff is ready to comply with Michael’s instruction. Aftershocks still ripple across his body, even as he tugs his underwear into place and fastens his khakis. He tucks in his broadcloth shirt and adjusts his sweater more for the sake of centering himself than actually needing the alignment. Once everything’s in place and he feels as though his head’s reattached properly, he pulls Michael close for a kiss.

“I expect you to have learned something,” he teases as they break for air. “There will be a quiz.”

Michael chuckles. “Hey, suckin’ cock is my favorite subject. Quiz me any time.” Geoff snorts and turns their bodies so Michael’s up against the bed.

“And here I thought I was teaching you grammar.”

“If more grammar lessons involved dick piercings...” Michael shakes his head. “I lost what I was sayin’ but there was a joke there, for sure.” Geoff has to resist the urge to just kiss the kid’s lopsided grin into oblivion. “Get downstairs, Ramsey.”

“Right.” He settles for kissing the corner of Michael’s mouth before heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“For sure.” Michael flops down on his bed. “Get the fuck out.”

Geoff is more relaxed than he imagined possible as he trots down the stairs and greets the Joneses again for their coffee. He explains that Michael was interrogating him about the weekend homework, and they tell him Mr. Jones got the fireplace video working on Netflix. Mr. Jones especially assures Geoff that his wife’s coffee is significantly better than any of her cooking. It’s easy to pass another half hour or so with the couple, talking weather and food, until Geoff takes a few ambitious steps toward the door.

“It’s been really nice, and thanks so much for having me,” he says with an easy smile, “but I gotta get home. Lots of grading this weekend.” Mrs. Jones pats his shoulder.

“Well, we’ll have to have you over for dinner again! Or at least another evening for coffee?” Her hopeful face keeps Geoff from flat-out denying her.

“I’m flattered, Mrs. Jones. We’ll have to see how my schedule is.” He slides on his shoes and Mr. Jones gets him his empty dishes. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“No, no, thank you for coming!” Mrs. Jones says brightly.

“And think about talking Michael into getting a job or something,” Mr. Jones adds. Geoff simply nods along, waves his goodbyes, and drives home.

\---

Michael picks up his phone an hour later, unlocks it, and sets it back down without doing anything. He’s thought of texting Geoff about a dozen times. He could at least make sure the man got home okay. Or would that be weird?

The phone buzzes, startling him, and he checks the message immediately.

>>Geoff: Home’s too quiet.

>>Geoff: Miss you.

>>Michael: Haha go to bed dude

>>Michael: Miss you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's _The Dinner_ , hope you enjoyed. ;3; Reminder you can listen to the 8-tracks mix for this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/nateyface/recipe-for-disaster). If you wanna be super cool, you can say hi to me, talk about fic, or send me a prompt, all at [ryanslostfootage](http://ryanslostfootage.tumblr.com). Thanks so much for reading!


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